White Light
by Casca
Summary: A collection of scenes from Edward's perspective that picks up where chapter one of Midnight Sun leaves off
1. Cause and Cure

**"White Light**"

_By Casca_

A collection of scenes from Edward's perspective that picks up where chapter one of Midnight Sun leaves off 

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. All rights reserved.

Author's Note: This story is exactly what the summary says: a _collection of scenes_ from Edward's perspective. In no way is this "Twilight From Edward's POV" because is no way is this a complete story. Much of the time I will not bother to put in backstory, but merely pick up where I feel like picking up. Some sections will be a dozen pages, some will be two pages, some might be only a paragraph. Some might be filled in at a later time. Fair warning. :-)

**_Cause and Cure_**

"Dr. Carlisle Cullen. Can you page him, please?"

The human behind the massive, gleaming desk looked up. She had small eyes, which widened when they focused on his face. It was a reaction Edward was used to, but it was a reaction that triggered a pause he could not afford. He struggled to keep his neutral expression, to keep the polite smile in place, and he did so with the sort of conviction a serial killer might have when approaching his next victim. Or a vampire setting eyes upon a human. He must stay calm, he must keep himself in check, he must not do anything to tip her off. Unlike the hypothetical serial killer, he did not intend for this hospital desk clerk to be his prey.

That slot was reserved for someone else at the moment.

Five painful seconds ticked by and he realized that the receptionist's thoughts were trimmed with a sharp edge – like a blade. Something rendered this hospital receptionist speechless a split second too long, something that was too vague to be put into coherent thought inside the woman's head.

This happened often enough. At times, humans didn't fully realize exactly what to think around the Cullens, couldn't put into actual words or images the certain… _vibe_ they exuded. The unnerving doubt that they inevitably brought about in the delicate minds of humans was always distinguishable to Edward, although this time, the thread of doubt was closer to fear, and far more defined than most. 

He hastened to control his outward appearance, so difficult when a war had been waged inside of him today. He didn't want to realize that, like Mrs. Cope back at the school's office, this hospital receptionist may have spotted a hint of black fire in the windows of his eyes or something not quite right in the tightness of his smile. He didn't want to think that it was possible for this woman to sense that during what had probably been just another insignificant hour of her life, the boy who stood before her had come close to committing an act that would horrify this small town like nothing it or she could possibly imagine.

_Who are __you?_ She demanded in her head, but what she said was,

"Um - is there - who should I say - ?"

"Edward Cullen. His son."

Edward's voice tightened on the last word due in part to the crack he felt somewhere in the region of his chest when he uttered the word.

Bella Swan was dead. Sweet, hot, beyond delicious, her blood pulsed down his throat, tightened his muscles, and satisfied every corner of scorching thirst and blinding desire that existed because of it – both the cause and the cure.

A crashing sound caused him to jerk, alert. Hastily, the receptionist lifted the phone from where she'd dropped it and placed it to her ear, dialing a number into the pad and gathering the pens that had spilled out of the cup. Her hands trembled slightly. She glanced up at him, only to regret the action and look away.

He turned abruptly and shoved the glorious, hideous images that were assaulting him out of his head to painstakingly replace them with the one that Alice had provided. He was driving down a dark highway, away from this place.

Edward commanded himself to breathe the clean, hospital air, to let go of any leftover need. The fact that Bella Swan was alive – that all of fifth period Biology was alive - stood to reason that he had some level of control over his actions. But even as he let that comfort him more than he should, Edward knew the truth. This should have passed. This need for her blood should have passed in the miles between them, in the countless breaths he'd taken of clean, non-tainted air. One fact wouldn't let this thirst die, wouldn't let the memory of her blood leave his system.

Bella Swan was home alone right now. Easy as breathing, he could have her.

But he wouldn't. He had decided already, hadn't he? He'd sat in the car, listening to the gentle chords of Debussy, and decided that he was better than the monstrous urges that were inherent to his kind. He could think for himself and he could make a choice. That is what cast him aside from others like him.

How easy it was to think about that now! It was a Herculean effort, of course, _not_ to think about Bella Swan and what she might be doing at this very moment. To instead replace the most natural, murderous thoughts with ones that he'd been trained to think and believe since the moment he'd been born to this life. But it was a thousand times easier than it had been in that classroom - or in that office - when her scent assaulted the air that he breathed.

Suddenly, Carlisle's voice was in his head – or rather, in the receptionist's head – and it stopped his thoughts.

_Tell him to wait, please. I'll be down in five minutes_.

Edward didn't hear the woman as she repeated the message, he only heard Carlisle. A brilliant white light filled his head now. He felt his body react to it, his muscles slowly easing out of their tensed state. For the first time in the past three hours, Edward felt a sense of protection. Carlisle would prevent him from doing something he shouldn't. Carlisle would protect him from this, from himself. How many times had he done so in the past, how many times had Edward quaked with the ache for human blood during those horrible first years, and again, much later, when he returned to him in shame? How many times had Carlisle's soft, controlled voice pulled him from the temptations that were so natural for their kind, but a merciless cross to bear for the life they had chosen?

Edward turned only to find a large waiting area, and at once, his insides recoiled at the mistake. A tearful child favoring an unnaturally twisted arm, sat to one side, his parents' faces wrought with worry; two young ladies occupied another row of chairs and one was doubled over in pain; and last, but certainly not least, an elderly man trembled while a middle-aged woman held a blood-soaked rag to a gash on his forehead.

The roaring in Edward's head blocked the irony that, in his haste to get inside, he had entered the blasted hospital through the doors that any vampire with a half a brain would avoid at all costs: the ER.

_Edward_.

Edward heard him before he saw him, and whirled around at the sound of distant footsteps. There he was. His bright light walking towards him. No human would be able to see him coming down the hallway, too far for ordinary eyes, but Edward saw. And he saw every flickering thought in his father's mind.

Like the receptionist, they weren't coherent thoughts. These were threads, some sharp, some soft; they were colors, bright, dim, or blinding; they were sounds, a delicate hum, a screeching violin, a blaring bell. They were the kind of thoughts that were brought about by emotions that came too fast to enter the brain comprehensibly.

Carlisle's flashed swiftly, like the blurry, flickering lines of a fuzzy channel on the television. First it was vague surprise that Edward was there; the family rarely visited his place of work, for obvious reasons. There was a sudden glimmer of shock, perhaps from the look on Edward's face. Alarm was there, a ringing siren, but it turned into the dull hum of caution. Finally, a hard resolve in the coldest of black pushed away anything else and caused him to empty his mind at once.

He would wait to hear it from Edward before guessing, before reacting. A humorless smile touched Edward's lips. The idea of it was ridiculous. Carlisle was different. Carlisle knew him best. Carlisle didn't need Alice's visions to recognize what he looked like when he thirsted for human blood. Edward knew that. They _both_ knew that. It had been nearly nine decades since Carlisle had seen Edward look like this, but it appeared those nine decades could evaporate for him as easily as they had for Edward a few short hours ago.

He jerked his head and Edward sprang, following him as he turned a corner down a long corridor. The '_wait' _in the receptionist's mind never made it to her lips, and changed to flickered confusion at the speed of his departure.

"Isabella Swan," Edward said tightly, swinging into a room stacked from the floor to ceiling with medical supplies.

Police Chief Swan flashed in Carlisle's head and Edward nodded curtly.

"His daughter."

Carlisle's eyes seared into Edward's, took in the black thirst.

_You resisted_.

His relief was fierce, his concern distinct, but underneath it all, a quiet pride where there shouldn't be swirled through the threads of his mind. The shame overwhelmed Edward. As though to prove to his father how wrong he was, his mind went where it hadn't strayed in less than a minute.

The soft, paper skin at her neck tore under his desiccated mouth—

Edward growled, low and horrible, the sound of an animal in pain. A sound he knew well. He doubled over.

"I have to have her."

_No_. The calm, patient voice, void of judgment or disappointment, caused him to realize he had said the words out loud. _You don't_.

He gripped the countertop. There was a cracking sound and the Formica trembled. He let go abruptly. He should have known there was nothing that could support him, nothing strong enough to help keep this in check. 

"What is this?" He bit out. "I caught her scent and I nearly took her right there, in front of a room full of children. It's never been this strong, I have never smelled anything like it, her blood, it was as though I had no _choice_—"

_But you did have a choice. _The words were sharp in Carlisle's mind.

"Barely," Edward growled. "I barely made it out of there before - I was going to kill them all, every one of them, just for her. Why? Why her? _What is this_?"

Something gripped his upper arm and he instinctively turned his hand to grasp Carlisle's forearm with a force that would have broken the walls of the hospital. Nothing was broken. He was steadied. Apparently there was something on this earth that was strong enough for him to hold onto.

"The Italians have a phrase for it," Carlisle was saying quietly. "It's as though the scent of her blood sings to you like no other human's." That was all he said on the matter, and abruptly changed the subject. _You need to hunt, Edward. Now. Where are the others?_

"No," he panted, pulling more and more hospital air into his lungs. "I can't be here. I have to go. I have to leave."

He couldn't meet his father's eyes; he didn't want to see the disappointment that he would hear soon enough in his head. Edward waited for it, bracing against it… but there was nothing. The threads of Carlisle's mind were nothing more than keen understanding, and even stronger, a blinding white light. Years of reading the strings of emotions in people's heads had taught Edward exactly what that light was. Love. The kind that was unconditional, the kind that cast aside sin. The kind that stopped for nothing.

The shame was paralyzing.

_Do what you have to do, Edward._ _You won't give in to this, I know you._ _You will not allow yourself to kill a child. _

Child. Wide brown eyes, curious, deep, stared at him from across the cafeteria as Jessica Stanley's harsh words echoed in his head.

_She's really not even pretty. _

Again, that absurd and irrational bout of protectiveness sprang inside of him. But even as he thought how absurd it was to want to protect the girl from mere adolescent cruelty, Edward knew the satirical truth. The red-eyed monster stalked her from the shadows. There was only one being on this earth with the power to stand guard for Isabella Swan and that was himself.

The cause and the cure.

"What can I do?" Carlisle asked quietly.

Edward took a deep breath, and felt resolve course through him. Carlisle trusted him. He could trust himself. He _would_ trust himself.

"Tell Esme I'm sorry. And Alice." When Edward thought of his sister, her visions of his own precarious future flashed behind his eyes, and he was suddenly reading her thoughts, vague though they were from such a distance away. The gas light in his Volvo flashed bright red. The young girl at the gas station had large brown eyes, and long, mahogany-brown hair. The scent of her blood wasn't one-tenth as appetizing as Bella Swan's, but Edward watched his own eyes darken with thirst and the helpless girl's eyes widen in fear.

"There's one more thing." Edward's voice was barely audible.

_Name it._

Shame licked at Edward's insides. He was weak. So weak, he couldn't stop for anything. "Do you have a full tank?"

Carlisle nodded slowly. There was no judgment. No reserve. Just blinding white light.

"I'll get my keys."


	2. Speed

**"White Light**"

_By Casca_

A collection of scenes from Edward's perspective that picks up where chapter one of Midnight Sun leaves off

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. All rights reserved.

Author's Note: The majority of this story was written prior to the Midnight Sun leak, and will not adhere to any Midnight Sun "canon" with the exception of the first chapter. This fic directly picks up where chapter one of Midnight Sun leaves off, and is entirely my version of events thereafter.

_Speed_

The trees rushed by, a blur of brown and green. More green. Everything was turning green again. The turnoff for Forks was fast approaching.

The speedometer read ninety-two. Edward's jaw tightened reflexively. With a keen sense of purpose, he pressed his foot down onto the gas pedal and the sounds of acceleration rose - the roar of the engine, the howl of the wind, the hum in his head. He reveled in it. The prospect of whizzing through the world at a velocity that defied nature, leaving time and space behind only to find infinitely more to push through was an exhilaration that was unsurpassed.

A pesky little impulse made its appearance for the second time in the past five minutes. Intuition flared, told him to lift his foot a fraction. To slow down. A tight smile pulled at Edward's lips as he accelerated past a hundred. If things had been different, he would have found it laughable. There weren't many beings on this earth that could influence the speed at which he drove. His mother could attest to that.

Gentle eyes and a soft smile filled his head and the corner of his mouth tugged reluctantly as he stared blindly at the stretch of road in front of him. In his head, he was driving down a completely different road, in an earlier decade, in a car whose speedometer went only as high as seventy-five miles per hour. He'd been doing seventy-four. She was beside him in the passenger seat and her frown creased her forehead.

"You shouldn't go so fast, Edward," she was muttering and he was grinning, both at the absurdity of her worry and the affection he felt for her.

"Sorry, Mom."

He supposed it was something that came with motherhood. Worry for your children. The fact that your children happened to be indestructible took a backseat to the protective instincts.

With the thoughts came an ache that caused his hand to tighten on the wheel. He missed her. It had only been a few days, and he still missed her. He hadn't been able to help himself, after leaving the hospital, from listening in the direction of his home. Even though the voices got more and more vague as he'd driven away from Forks, he could still hear smidges of their thoughts. He listened for hers, and though he hadn't been able to gather much, he had heard the hum of worry, saw flashes of light that meant she was feeling an immense amount of love. Nothing more.

In the great distance there was a sign, and the word Forks stood out as though it was written in neon. His foot twitched on the gas pedal again, but he didn't ease up. He kept his speed, refusing once again to slow down. He'd refused himself enough in recent days.

A familiar image flashed in his brain then and his smile turned to a grimace. The image was one he'd been dancing with since leaving. It contained a single face. and with it a. He ignored the tidal wave of emotions that came with the image and picked out the one he wanted, the one that had lead him to this road back to Forks. He let it take over until the frown turned into a tight, grim smile. He recognized his own arrogance with the newfound authority he had acquired over the past week. The authority that had led him to one dominant thought:

Who was she, an insignificant little girl, to chase him from where he wanted to be?

He hit one-fifty before he saw the turn-off. Then he heard Alice.

—_know you can probably hear me by now, you're about ten minutes from home. Don't worry, you won't kill her, Edward - at least from the way things look right now. You must be pretty confident about it. I haven't had a single vision of you killing her since… hmmm… I think since about two days ago, actually, good job! _

He closed his eyes at her candor as she prattled on.

_I was thinking that it'll be okay. You have tomorrow to hunt, and we can spy on her if you want. You know - maybe if you see her as a person more, it might make things a little easier. Here, look at Monday – see, you even sit next to her in Biology again – look. _

She pulled her visions of Monday into her mind and therefore, into his. He was back in school. Bella Swan sat next to him. He cringed away from her, and yet… she was alive. She was fine. She spoke with Mike Newton in gym. She cooked dinner for her father. She was in her bedroom doing homework. She went to bed.

It was beyond ridiculous. The scenes that Alice shoved into his head could change the moment Bella Swan appeared in front of him and they both knew it. Even now, as he watched her sleep, seemingly safe and sound, his throat burned. But he couldn't stop the weary smile anymore than he could stop Alice from being Alice.

Edward pulled into the garage a few minutes later and she was perched on his Volvo, still talking to him in her head. The others were there, as he'd known they would be. Esme reached him first and wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders. _You're home_, her mind whispered, relief pushing away all other thought, and she squeezed him once before letting go. Emmett had him in a headlock which Edward reluctantly allowed and Rosalie laughed, pushing her husband aside to give Edward a quick, one-armed hug. Jasper grinned. Carlisle met his eyes.

_Okay?_

"For now," he said, and heard hums of relief in every one of their heads. Then his hand shot out to catch the baseball Jasper tossed to him.

"Game tonight?"

A semblance of normalcy found Edward as he turned the little white ball around in his hands, flicked it up and caught it. He couldn't give himself over to it fully, not until he could put Monday behind him. But it felt good to have something to look toward before the inevitable reunion with Isabella Swan.

"I'm in. What time?"

Everyone looked at Alice, who narrowed her eyes and hopped down from the car. "Around midnight. Storm's a doozy."

Emmett hissed and flexed his fists. "You're going _down_, Whitlock. I owe you."

"And I owe this one," Edward said, foolish enough to try and grab Alice in a headlock of his own. She caught his wrist and ducked under his arm to trot into the house. They all trailed in behind her. "I hit twelve potential home runs on the night she decides to get fancy and play outfield."

"What was the score that night?" Jasper laughed, sending an appreciative glance in Alice's direction.

"She should only be allowed to pitch," Emmett grumbled, thinking of his own home runs Alice had thwarted that night with her nearly unmatched speed in the outfield.

"Well, I _like_ pitching better, so you can stop the temper tantrums," she told them over her shoulder with that annoying knowing grin of hers that probably meant she could foresee the exact outcome of tonight's game. Edward didn't find it annoying today.

He allowed himself a smile as he followed his family into the house.


End file.
